


Scratches

by softboystanley



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, RIP, bill is the best, he scratches at himself but not enough to cause serious problems, its not really self harm but still not a great thing to do, pennywise was a while back and georgies dead, some blood but not enough to warrant a warning, stan has ocd but im sticking more towards book canon, theyre like 17 in this, where he has to be clean all the time, yes im posting angst on valentines day, yikes i have a feeling this is gonna flop but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softboystanley/pseuds/softboystanley
Summary: He could feel it crawling all over him. His skin felt hot and scratchy. Get it off, get it off, get it off! His mind screamed over and over again. He scratched at his skin furiously until he could feel blood under his nails. He screamed and screamed for someone, anyone, to come out of the shadows. But he was completely alone and covered in a disgusting slime.





	Scratches

**Author's Note:**

> me? posting angst? on valentines day? of course.

_ He was alone. All he had was a flashlight leading him through dark tunnels. He looked down and saw that he was in ankle deep in water. He shone the light to the walls and saw nothing but filth, everywhere.  _ __  
__  
_ He could feel it crawling all over him. His skin felt hot and scratchy. Get it off, get it off, get it off! His mind screamed over and over again. He scratched at his skin furiously until he could feel blood under his nails. He screamed and screamed for someone, anyone, to come out of the shadows. But he was completely alone and covered in a disgusting slime.  _ __  
__  
_ “You’re not clean, Stanley” A hauntingly familiar voice whispered into his ear.  _ __  
__  
_ “Who’s there?!” Stan’s voice cracked as he whirled around spinning the flashlight all over his dirty prison.  _ __  
__  
_ “I think you already know.” The voice whispered once more.  _ __  
__  
_ “You’re not clean. You’re not clean.”  _ __  
__  
_ “Stop, please.” Stan put his hands over his ears begging the voice to stop.  _ __  
__  
_ “You’re not clean. You’re not clean!”  _ __  
__  
_ “Please!” Stan wailed, still searching for the culprit of his torture.  _ __  
__  
_ “You’re not clean! You’re not clean!”  _ __  
_  
_ __ “MAKE IT STOP!” 

 

_ “YOU’RE NOT CLEAN! YOU’RE NOT CLEAN!”  _

 

_ Stan felt the itch slithering over his arms and legs. He fell to his knees and scratched at his arms and legs. He felt it up the back of his neck and all over his face. His tears ran down his face and fell into the water below. He crumpled over and lay on his side, sobbing, shaking, and scratching.  _ __  
  
Stan bolted upright in his bed. He was covered in sweat and he could barely breathe. He scratched at his skin, trying to get it off, but there was nothing there.    
  
That voice. He had heard it somewhere but he had buried the memory deep in his mind in the hopes of never finding it again. This wasn’t the first dream he’s had like that. Waking up alone in a sewer, calling out for anyone, feeling the hot itch of nothing being right. But, that voice. It was new. The voice that had whispered to him, pushing his mind to that of total shut down.    
  
_ yourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotclean _   
  
He could barely keep his mind together. Stan could feel it cracking at the edges. Chanting over and over, the words that could bring him to his knees.    
  
He hadn’t even realized he had called Bill until he felt his phone in his hand and Bill’s groggy voice through the speakers.    
  
“Stan? It’s super late, what are you doing up? Did you have another nightmare?”    
  
“I-I-I could feel it on my skin, digging into me. And, and there was this voice and it’s...”    
  
“Do you need me to come over? Fuck it, I’m coming anyway.”    
  
Stan felt himself get off his bed and pace back and forth in his room. He heard Bill saying something but he couldn’t process it.    
  
__ yourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotcleanyourenotclean   
  
He had to find a way to cleanse himself. He needed to get this filth off. He needed to be clean. He couldn’t stop scratching at his skin, the itch. It was hot like fire and it was all over him. He scratched and scratched. You could see red marks on his skin where he had scratched. They ran up and down his arms and crisscrossed on his legs. He scratched around his neck and face. He scratched his cheeks where he felt tears. Was he crying? 

  
“Stan! Stan, I’m here. What’s wrong?” Stan looked up from where he had been scratching and saw Bill standing by his, now open, window. He staggered forward and collapsed into Bill’s cool arms. He allowed himself to cry, and cry. Bill just stood there, dumbfounded, holding a sobbing teenager in his arms. 

 

“It told me I wasn’t clean.” Stan repeated over and over again into Bill’s chest, soaking his shirt with tears.    
  
Stan felt Bill’s hand in his hair. He heard Bill’s voice telling him it was all going to be okay. He felt Bill sit down on the floor and bring Stan into his lap.    
  
“What did you do to yourself?” Stan heard Bill murmur as he felt Bill’s hands on his arms, inspecting the red marks running over Stan’s skin. 

  
“I had to be clean.” Stan said in between sobs.    
  
“You’re clean, I promise.” Bill put his hand on Stan’s face and wiped away his tears with his thumb. “You’re safe now, it’ll be okay. I’m here. I’ll look after you.” 

 

Stan shook violently in Bill’s arms and couldn’t stop crying. He felt Bill’s arms wrap around him and hold him tight, whispering that everything would be okay. 

  
“That voice, Bill. I’ve heard it before. Taunting me.”   
  
“We can worry about that tomorrow. Let’s get you up to bed.” Stan felt Bill lift him up and walk with him to his bed.   
  
“Do you get nightmares, Bill? About Georgie?”   
  
At the mention of his deceased kid brother, Bill faltered. “Sometimes. Sometimes I’ll go back to that day and watch myself give him the boat. I’ll yell at myself to take it back and to make him stay inside but I can’t do anything.”   
  
Stan sat on the edge of his bed, knees tucked under his chin watching Bill. Big Bill who had been through so much but still was able to support Stan. Big Bill who woke up in the middle of the night to check on Stan. Big Bill who ran three blocks to make sure Stan was okay.   
  
“Do you ever hear a voice?”   
  
“Once. It whispered in my ear that I couldn’t change the past. I couldn’t change what I did.” Stan saw Bill’s eyes get misty as his voice started to break.   
  
“You didn’t do anything. It was...” Stan trailed off as he realized he couldn’t remember what had happened to Georgie. He couldn’t remember anything about that summer.   
  
“The Clown.” Bill said.   
  
_clownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclownclown_  
  
“The Clown.” Stan repeated. He stared at his closet as if he were staring at the doorway to Neibolt, the house that had tormented his dreams as a young kid.   
  
“Stan, you should get to bed.”  
  
“Are you gonna go?”   
  
“No, I’m going to be right here all night. Come on.” Bill patted the spot next to him. Stan crawled over to where Bill was and lay next to him.   
  


“Do you think the others have it, too? The nightmares, I mean.” 

 

“We all saw something down there. Something we want to forget.” Bill replied solemnly. Stan thought back to the sewers when he was alone. It was just him and a flashlight just like in his dreams. The hot itch crawling all over him. The voice. 

 

“Thanks for coming, it helps…when someone’s here.” Stan said after a moment of silence. 

 

“Of course, I’ll always be here.” 

 

Stan felt the itch on the back of his neck. He reached his hand around to scratch but was met with Bill’s hand. He felt Bill grab his hand and kiss it softly. 

 

“Just don’t scratch, okay?” 

 

Stan nodded but the urge was gone now that Bill was here. When Bill was there, Stan felt clean. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated


End file.
